Kitten Thrall
by PrettyPoppy
Summary: Just when she thought he couldn't get any more pathetic, Dawn catches Spike doing the unthinkable in his crypt - (Oh, that poor kitten!) - and calls him on his feelings for Buffy. Season 5. Spike and Dawn friendship. Complete.


Author: PrettyPoppy

  


Title: Kitten Thrall

  


Summary: A brief encounter between Spike and Dawn, set sometime around "Crush." A Spike/Dawn friendship ficlet. Rated PG.

  


Author's notes: Kitten poker is season 5? I know, I know, but just because Buffy didn't find out about it until season 6, doesn't mean that Spike hadn't been playing it all along. (Even if he never did get the whole cheating thing down.) I have absolutely no idea where this came from, and I'm as shocked as anyone to find that, after almost four months of writer's block, the thing that got me moving again was a Spike and Dawn piece. But I'll take what I can get. 

  


Feedback: Please. I'd be ever so grateful. PrettyPoppy@worldnet.att.net

  


Distribution: If you want it, just let me know.

Disclaimer: Um, wait. I know this one. Give me a sec. Joss owns everything and I own nothing? Yeah, that sounds about right.

* * *

  
  


"Oh, don't look at me like that." Spike was seriously losing his patience. He put the small bundle down on the lid of his sarcophagus and glared at it again. "I said don't look at me like that!" The little red and white ball began to move, edging its way toward the corner of the stone box. "What . . . where the hell do you think you're going?"

  


Pulling in a sharp, unneeded breath, Spike grabbed the little bugger and unceremoniously plopped it back down in the middle of the lid. "Now you listen to me," he said, pointing a finger in the horrid little creature's horrid little face. "You stay put. We're gonna do this, and we're gonna do this right."

  


_Meow_. 

  


The kitten blinked. Then yawned, and got ready to crawl up into a contented little ball.

  


"Oh no you don't." Spike picked it up again, forced it to unfurl, and planted it firmly on its four sickeningly furry feet. 

  


The minuscule monster began to purr. 

  


Spike rolled his eyes.

  


Hunkering down on the cold floor, Spike managed to align himself eye level with his latest bit of poker winnings. He stared, straight ahead, into the round amber eyes of the less than cooperative furball. His gaze narrowed and he began to concentrate with all his might. 

  


Just then, the door burst open and Spike lost his balance, tumbling onto the floor behind him. "Ow!" he yelled, his hand coming up to soothe his bruised backside. "Bloody hell Slayer, the least you could do is–"

  


"A kitten! Oh my gosh Spike, when did you get a kitten?"

  


It wasn't the Slayer after all. No, more like the mini-Slayer. The Slayer-In-Training. Bitty Buffy herself.

  


"Dawn . . ." he began in warning.

  


Dawn turned around and looked down at Spike, the warm, fluffy bundle already wrapped tightly in her arms. "Oh sorry, did I do that?"

  


"Uh, yeah, you kind of did." Spike pushed himself off the ground and stood next to her, absently wiping the dust from his dark jeans. "You might try knocking next time. You never know what manner of evil things I get up to in here."

  


"Oh right, like what? Taking care of your sweet, wittle, adorwable kitten?" Somewhere along the way, her voice took on that insufferable, squeaky, baby-talk speak that women always seemed to use whenever they were around something weak and in need of mothering. She smiled up at him. "He's so pretty. What's his name?" she asked.

  


Spike glared at her. "He doesn't have a bleedin' name. He's dinner."

  


"What?" Dawn squeaked, as she pulled the puffball closer to her chest. 

  


"Din-ner," he repeated, emphasizing both syllables. "Won him in a poker game, and now he's going to be dinner."

  


Dawn's mouth had fallen open and she was staring at him in horror. "You . . . you can't eat him. You can't even kill him. It's impossible. You've got that chip, remember?" she said, her voice gaining a quavering false confidence.

  


"So what? Won't take much to dispose of a little morsel like that." He motioned toward her arms. "Quick snap of the neck. Won't hurt a bit." He shrugged.

  


"Which one of you won't it hurt?"

  


"Either really. Trust me, Mr. Fast Food over there won't know what hit him." He nodded toward the cat.

  


Dawn narrowed her eyes and glared at him. 

  


God how she looked like Buffy when she did that.

  


_Meow! _

  


This time it was more of a shriek than a warm utterance. Apparently Dawn had been so frightened for the poor creature that she had clamped it to her chest so hard that it was finding it difficult to breath. She immediately loosened her hold and began cooing soft nothings into its ear.

  


"It's okay, we won't let the bad vampire hurt you. No we won't. My sister's the Slayer," she said, loud enough for him to hear, "and she can kick his sorry ass any day."

  


Spike let out a disquieted breath, something like a "hmpf," and walked away toward the fridge.

  


Dawn saw where he was going and squealed, "What are you doing?" 

  


"Looking for something to enhance the meal," he said, as he swung open the door. He looked back at her, raising a quizzical, yet seemingly earnest brow. "What goes with tender feline?" 

  


"Spike, you can't!" She stormed over to the fridge, kitten still coddled at her breast, and stood toe to toe with him. "I won't let you."

  


"Yeah, li'l bit?" He said quietly, his tongue playing wickedly against his teeth. "What you gonna do about it?"

  


Dawn puffed herself up. "I'll . . . I'll . . . tell Buffy you tried to bite me, and she'll come over here and stake you."

  


"Oh please," Spike turned back toward the fridge and closed the door, "we both know you're not gonna do that."

  


"I could. I would. I mean, I will." She followed him across the room. 

  


Spike ignored her. He poured himself a drink and then threw himself down into his one and only armchair. Dawn hovered beside him. "You're not having this kitten for dinner. And that's final."

  


"Whatever." Spike shook his head and downed half his glass. "Have it your way then."

  


"You mean it?"

  


Spike turned his face to look up at her. A sly smile pulled at his lips. "Wasn't gonna eat it anyway."

  


"What?"

  


"Eh." He shrugged. "Kitten's not really my thing. Too stringy. I don't care what they say, it does not taste like chicken." He finished his drink and bounded out of his chair to fetch another.

  


"You don't eat kittens, do you?" Dawn asked, her voice heavy with suspicion.

  


"Not really. Not worth the trouble. Not enough blood. It's like eating a rat. Never really my thing." He moved to turn away from her again but quickly remembered something and turned back. "But _Angel_," Spike emphasized the word, "Angel knows a thing or two about eating rats. Bloody poofter. Apparently feeding off real, live humans wasn't good enough for him, after the whole _en-souling._" Spike waved his hands in the air, as if heralding the end of some great, lame magic trick.

  


"Jealous much?"

"What?" Spike looked at her as if she were insane. "Of the Poof?"

"Yeah, of the . . . the poof." A small smile escaped her as she said it.

Spike was too offended to be warmed by Dawn's childish grin. "Soddin' hell," Spike cursed to himself. "I have never been, _and will never be_, jealous of that magnificent wanker. You can count on it."

"Even where Buffy is concerned?"

She said it lightly, dryly, as if it were nothing. A mere, innocuous question like any other. But it wasn't like any other. Damn insightful girl. 

"What? You expect me to be jealous because he's caused her more harm?" Spike began. "Because Angelus was able to torture and torment her? Well listen, Nibblet," he said, moving in closer, doing his best to sound dangerous, "there may come a day when I get this chip out of my head, and then you wait and see. See who it is who finishes Buffy off." 

Dawn blinked at him. Then yawned. 

Just like that sodding kitten. 

"Are you finished?" she asked, feigning boredom.

"I'm serious," he said, trying indeed to sound _very_ serious.

"Right, okay." She rolled her eyes at him. "Now honestly?"

Spike stared at her, deep into her dark brown eyes and tried to think of one thing to say, one simple way to deny it. He couldn't. He stepped away. "I don't . . . envy," the word was hard for him, "what he has with her. I don't really give a bloody damn about any of it. What I . . ." He turned toward Dawn, his head lowered, his gaze furtive. She was gazing at him with earnest encouragement and a quiet kind of patience he had rarely seen from anyone, since his mother. 

A hard lump caught in the back of Spike's throat and he had to pull away from her stare. He straightened up and squeezed his eyes tightly together, waiting for the sting to subside. When he could finally speak, he continued, not looking at his audience. "Vampire's aren't supposed to feel, you know that right? Not without souls. And yet . . . and yet," he was having difficulty forcing himself to speak, "I do. I always have. Even before the chip." His voice suddenly lowered to a whisper. "Even before the bleeding chip."

"Did you love her even then?"

"What?" Spike's eyes shot up and he stared at Dawn. 

"Buffy?" she asked, nonchalantly, as she absently stroked the small tuft of fur in her arms. "Did you love her even then? Even before the chip?"

Spike's vision glazed ever so slightly. Although he continued to stare at Dawn, he ceased to see her standing there. His mind was a million miles away.

He had never thought about that before. Not quite in those terms. He had been blaming the chip for this ever since that blasted dream! But it wasn't the chip, was it? No. Drusilla had known long before there ever was a chip. Had sent him packing because of it. No, it went back much farther than that, back to the first night they had met. He'd felt it even then.

And even then he'd known it was wrong. 

He had never wanted to admit it to himself. Had always lived in a tenuous state of denial. But he had loved her since the very fist time he had laid eyes on her, all those years ago at The Bronze. At the time, he hadn't known exactly what that feeling was, and even now, he didn't quite know why he'd been able to feel it. But he had. He had loved her, from the beginning. From day one. The chip was just an excuse. 

"Spike? Uh, Spike?" Dawn waved an agitated hand in front of his eyes to get his attention. "So?"

Now Spike blinked. Several times. He felt no need to yawn. "So, nothin'."

"Right. Like I'm just supposed to believe that?"

"Look, if I loved her, why did I try to kill her all those times?"

"Well, things change," Dawn said, going back to stroking the dozing kitten in her arms. "Or maybe you just didn't know how to express your feelings. There was this boy in my fifth grade class, Billy Johnson, who totally had the hots for me. But instead of telling me - like a sane, normal human being - he used to sit behind me in class and tie my braids together in elaborate little knots. I just think he really liked to play with my hair, you know? Touching me, but not really touching me. Anyway, maybe you just liked trying to kill Buffy because it was a way to get near her. I mean, maybe if Buffy wore her hair in braids more often, you wouldn't have resorted to attempted murder to get close to her." She smiled at him.

Spike looked at her like she was fairly insane.

"Besides, back then you didn't think you had a shot in hell with Buffy, so why not try to kill her? I mean, you probably figured if you couldn't have her, then no one could. Especially Angel. Better a dead Buffy, than Angel's Buffy, right? So, you see," she said cheerily, "the fact that you tried to kill her so many times, really doesn't prove anything. So, I'll ask you again. Did you feel this way or not? Before the chip?"

"Oh Bollocks!" Spike pushed himself away from Dawn, physically shaking the refrigerator as he slammed it in frustration. "I don't feel anything for the Slayer. And even if I did, it's none of you're business."

Dawn smiled at him. Just like a Cheshire cat. "You like her, don't you? I knew it. Knew it all along." Dawn skipped away from the fridge and toward the door, humming triumphantly to herself.

Spike whirled around to watch her as she made her way to the door. "Where do you think you're going?" 

"Home. It's pizza night. At least, I think it's pizza night. It is Friday, right? Anyway, mom'll be worried sick if I don't get home soon."

"Uh-hem," Spike cleared his throat and put out one strong, lean hand. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

"What?"

"My poker ante?"

Dawn looked down at the sleeping mound cradled in the crook of her arm. "Oh," she said flatly. She looked up at Spike. "Can I keep him?" she asked, far too cheerily.

"No, you cannot keep him," he said as he stalked toward her and tried to pluck the kitten from her care. Spike knew he couldn't keep the kitten either, he had too many demon acquaintances who were all too ready to eat kittens for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It wouldn't last long hanging about his crypt. He'd have to give it away, when he was through with it. __

_Damn ruddy chip! _ If it wasn't responsible for him falling in love with Buffy, at the very least it had him developing a conscience.

Dawn pulled away before Spike could grab the purring feline. "But Miss Kitty Fantastico could use a boyfriend." 

"Likes younger men, does she?"

"Well, I don't think she's too particular really. Actually, since she's neutered, it's probably not going to matter. But I think she might like the company. And I'm sure mom wouldn't mind."

"Right. Well," he said, as he took the tired kitten from her arms, "when you get written permission from Joyce, saying that cats are now acceptable in the Summers household, I will gladly hand him over. In the meantime, I'll be keeping my little experiment to myself, thank you."

"Experiment?"

"What?"

"You . . . said . . . experiment." Dawn glanced about the room, scanning for anything unusual. "What, exactly, were you doing with that kitten before I got here? What kind of experiment?"

"No, no kind of experiment." Now Spike was clutching the few feeble ounces of fur. 

Dawn gave him a look. _The _look. Something she had obviously learned from her sister. 

"It's nothin'," he protested. He was beginning to wilt under the oppressive heat of her gaze.

"Nothin', huh? Let's see." Dawn stepped around Spike and descended the few stairs back into the center of the crypt. "Hmm?" She put a very thoughtful look on her face, and Spike couldn't help but watch her curiously. "You were down on the ground, watching the kitten. What? Did you give it something? Some kind of poison or something? You wanted to see if it would take, without activating you're chip? Is that it?"she asked with accusatory horror.

"Oh please. Yes I am intending to wreak my evil vengeance by poisoning the entire cat population of Sunnydale. _Oh, I'm so evil_," he mocked.

Dawn crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. "There's no need to be sarcastic, you know? So, you're not doing evil, poisoning experiments?" she asked, her voice softening and becoming slightly hopeful.

"Course not."

"Then what?" Dawn raised an eyebrow at him, and gave him another _look_. 

Bloody hell she was good.

Spike shook his head and sighed. "It's stupid really. And nothin' to worry yourself over. So forget about it." He placed the sleeping kitten down in the armchair and moved closer to Dawn.

"Stupid?" Now she sounded sympathetic. Was that pity in her voice?

"Right, okay, well, you see, I wanted to see if I could . . ." Spike couldn't finish. He broke off with a loud cry of frustration and threw himself up against the sarcophagus, the small of his back pressed firmly into the edge of the lid. 

"Wanted to see if you could . . . what? Control the kitten?" she mocked playfully. "Get it to do your evil bidding? Put a thrall on it?"

Spike didn't speak. 

"I mean, can you imagine trying to put a thrall on a kitten? Only the most pathetic vampire in the entire world would ever try to . . ." Dawn's voice trailed off. "Oh." She quickly shut her gaping mouth.

Spike turned his head to look at her from the corner of his eye. "I didn't try to get it to do my evil bidding," he tried to defend himself. "I just wanted to see if - oh, I don't know - I just wanted to do something vampire-like!" He pushed himself away from the sarcophagus, accidently dislodging the lid and sending it skidding across the top of the box several inches. Luckily, it didn't hit the floor. 

Spike had never actually put a thrall on anything before. That was Dru's bit. But he figured he'd give it a try, learn a new skill. After all, with that soddin' chip in his head, most of his old one's were lost to him now.

"Yeah, and we all know how much vampires love putting thralls on kittens," Dawn said. "I mean, it's like Gospel right? In the vampire Bible? Everyone knows vampires drink blood, hate pointy wooden objects, and of course, enthrall hordes and hordes of kittens to be their loyal minions." She smiled at him. And then reconsidered. "Or maybe that's dogs. Dogs are more loyal than cats, right? Did you ever think of using a dog?"

Spike very much wanted to strangle the little bit, but knew he'd literally have hell to pay for it if he did. His own private hell in the form of one very brassed-off slayer. Instead he tried to ignore her.

Spike crossed the crypt and opened the refrigerator again. This time he reached inside and pulled out a packet of blood. Maybe she'd leave if she knew feeding time was near. 

"Oh, so you're gonna ignore me then? Fine." Dawn let out an all-too dramatic sigh. "I guess I'll just go tell Buffy then. Got to keep her up-to-date on all the evilness that goes on around here."

Spike still tried to ignore her. He refused to turn around, but listened intently as she made her way toward the door. He heard feet pad spryly up the stone steps. Then a pause. The door opened, a few more steps, and then it closed. She was gone. 

Spike turned around and cursed under his breath. Sodding slayer-wannabe. "Dawn!" he yelled in aggravation, as he headed toward the door. Just as he reached it, it swung open and he was met with a brilliant pair of dark, smiling brown eyes. 

Dawn smiled at him.

Spike scowled.

"You are not to tell your sister, do you understand?"

"Of course I do. I am not - as I keep telling everyone - a child," she said indignantly. "Look, Spike," she said, all seriousness for the first time. "I get it, okay? You wanted to prove something to yourself, and what other means did you have? I mean, Buffy would have killed you if she had found you out there practicing your thrall on real humans. I do get it. But honestly, doesn't the victim need a soul for that kind of thing?"

Spike sighed and ran a hand over his hair. "Reckon so, but figured, what the hell? Couldn't hurt to try, right? Didn't know I was going to get caught by Buffy's shadow." 

"Hey, I am not Buffy's shadow," Dawn cried defensively. "I go where I want and do what I want. And sometimes I don't even tell Buffy where I am," she said proudly.

"Even though you should," he said, matter-of-factly.

"Hey, what is this? I thought you were evil? I thought you understood."

"I do." Spike smiled slyly. "But it's dangerous out there bit." He nodded toward the open door. "Can't be too careful, especially around here."

"Right. I know," Dawn grudgingly conceded. "Look, I'd better go, or Buffy'll be knocking down this door any . . .," she glanced at it, "well, okay, it's already open, but you know what I mean. I'll see you later."

"Sure li'l bit."

She turned to walk away. Before she could place a foot outside, she turned back toward Spike. "Spike?"

"Yeah?" he asked softly.

"If you . . . if you need someone to practice on, someone who's not of the kitten variety, I could always . . ."

"No!" The startled cry was barely comprehensible. Was she completely off her bird?! What the hell was wrong with her, volunteering for thrall practice with a vampire? She was as daft as her sister, apparently.

"Are you sure? Because I wouldn't mind."

"Dawn," Spike said sternly, "go home."

"Right. Home." She nodded succinctly. "Can I stop by tomorrow then? No enthralling, I swear," she quickly assured him. "Just to see little William over there." She pointed toward the chair.

"What?" Spike asked, completely baffled.

"William. William the Bloody. You know, Din-ner? Mr. Fast Food? He needed a proper name, so I gave him one."

"When, did you do that?" Spike asked tightly.

"Oh, I don't know. During one of your blow-ups? You know, if I didn't know any better - you know, know that you're a vampire and all - I'd swear you had hypertension. We learned about it in health class. So, you never actually turn red, you've got all the other symptoms. Funny, do you think vampires can have heart attacks?

"No," he said as he moved directly toward her, hoping to maneuver her out the door, "but what they can do is murder little girls. Strangle them, disembowel them, suck their blood dry until they're so weak they can no longer beg for mercy." He glowered down at her with piercing blue eyes. 

"You're right. But that's just as long as they don't have chips in their heads. 'Cause, the chipped kind? They're kinda whipped." She nodded, smiled at him, and _finally_, disappeared through the door.

Spike closed the door behind him with a thankful sigh. Just think, she'd be back again tomorrow. The troublesome bint. 

No, Spike admitted to himself, as he picked up the kitten and sat down with it in his arms. She wasn't all that bad. Not bad at all. Actually, he liked her quite a lot. Too much like her sister for her own good really. Just like the little sister he'd never had. The problem was, she had hit too close to home tonight. She knew too much - about him, about his feeling for Buffy. He was scared of being close, to anyone, didn't matter who. The fact that that little girl knew him so well scared him. What scared him even more was the fact that she knew him so well and actually liked him. 

She was nuts! 

Just like her dear sister. 

Just like his slayer. 

Between the two of them, he knew he was doomed.

END


End file.
